Good Advice
by TheShadowhuntingDemigod
Summary: Poseidon's visit to his favorite beach in Wales *happens* to coincide with Will Herondale's visit... to the exact same beach. But maybe Poseidon can help him sort through his troubles. At least he's going to try.


Poseidon rubbed his tired eyes. He strolled down the last of the cobbled street. It was lined with whitewashed homes with low-hanging eaves and shuttered windows, like giant gingerbread houses. All was lifeless in the town, except for the occasional candle flickering its orange light on the windowsill. It was not quite nighttime, but a blue-hour of the day when the village folk were drowsy from a full stomach. Poseidon was familiar with this time of the day. It was his favorite time to leave the town, to walk its streets and look over its quaint homes without being glared at and muttered about. "_Foreigner,_" he would hear them say. Then he could return to his kingdom, while the waves crashed- relentless and cold on the white sand. He liked doing that at dusk, while few cared enough to watch his movements.

The street cut off, leading to a strip of forest. It was thin, and tame, easily crossed. The sea god stepped over a lumpy root and inside. Under the canopy of leaves, finches and blue jays sang their song, always happy in their homes high above the ground. The strip of forest was exquisitely green, grass swathing the soft dirt, moss coating the tree branches, emerald leaves shivering in the evening breeze. There was barely any other color there; the green had taken the forest for itself. That was Wales, thought Poseidon. It wasn't his favorite place- much too cold and quiet. And he was the ocean; the ocean was never quiet.

Silver-gold light filtered through the camouflage of leaves and branches. Poseidon squinted as it grew brighter the further he went. He reached the edge of the forest. Before him was a small, crescent-shaped beach, surrounded by the strip of trees. Boulders dotted the coarse sand, disappearing as they approached the shoreline. It was small and secluded, perfect for Poseidon to morph back into himself without being questioned. He didn't like using the Mist to do simple things like that. It made him feel less free. And this was his favorite beach in Wales, perhaps the entirety of Britain. He loved it very much.

But there was someone sitting on it. Poseidon's face grew hot and he set his jaw. He marched down the sloping beach, feet slipping on the sand. His short bronze hair thrashed wildly in the wind and he tugged his long, rust-colored coat closer about him, though it was already buttoned. How dare someone use his beach? That was preposterous, unacceptable! No one was allowed to exploit his favorite beach! He was a few meters away from the intruder when he stopped.

It was a man- little more than a boy. He was crouched on the shore, the waves just brushing his toes. His hands carved shapes into the sand, letters of a strange kind. Poseidon could not read them, but it was not the letters he was interested in. It was the boy himself, with hair as black as the pits of Night, and skin paler than Khion's snow. He was muscular, and tall, his long legs folded underneath him in an uncomfortable manner. There was something about the way he hung his head, the slackness of his wrist as he drew, that seemed so defeated it was almost saddening to watch.

Poseidon's heart softened. He was not cruel, or as harsh as his brothers. He had a soft spot for mortals, although he could tell this boy was more than a mortal. Not that he was entirely sure what he was… but strength radiated from the boy in a way it did not with mortals. But what could be weighing on his soul in such a way?

The god pursed his lips. The boy's back had gone stiff within moments of his arrival; it wasn't as if he was unaware of the powerful being standing meters away from him on a silent, otherwise empty beach. They had both been aware of the other's presence, and yet both stayed silent as two ghosts sharing the view.

Finally Poseidon approached the boy, pity running heavily through his veins. The boy ceased his calligraphy, his hand frozen halfway to his waist. Poseidon held up his hands. He had taken on the persona of an older man, with copper hair and beard, but the same sea green eyes. He lowered himself onto the sand, feeling its rough grain, interspersed with broken shells. His tan legs folded under him like a child, so he crouched the same way as the young man.

The young man didn't move- not an inch. His hand froze near his waist, where he obviously wore a weapons belt or scabbard. He did not meet the sea god's face or move his eyes at all, only glowered at the sand before him.

Poseidon did not look at the boy either. He gazed out onto the swelling expanse of sea, tinted golden like stained glass in the sunset. His aura was casual- just an older man in a dirt-smeared tunic, ending his day with a nap on the shore. The god found it quite fitting.

Though the boy beside him was more alert now, he was still a sorrowful sight. Something was certainly causing him pain.

"So what's got you hurtin'," Poseidon asked, in what he believed to be an excellent Scottish brogue. The boy squeezed his bow-shaped lips together till they turned white. He said nothing.

"Oh, come now," Poseidon chided. "There's got to be somethin' puttin' the achin' on yer bones."

This drew a response from the boy. He averted his head to the side to avoid eye contact. "I'd prefer to be alone, thank you." His voice was smooth, accented in Welsh.

The sea god frowned. He wanted to help this young man. There was obviously something wrong and he felt obligated to at least point him in the right direction.

"Ye can't be more than seventeen years, can ye?" He said. "A boy yer age should be happy! Ye should be celebratin' yer youth out with yer fellows, ye should! One with the looks of ye must have lots of pretty ladies hanging off his arms too, hmm?"

The young man's expression hardened. "I said I would like to be left alone, man. Best you abide by my wishes." His voice was razor-sharp, venomous. Poseidon, had he been mortal, would probably have feared this boy's abilities. But he wasn't, so he found it only comical- and slightly saddening, in a way.

When he did not move, the boy looked at him. His eyes were a startling, glowing blue, bluer than most of Poseidon's own oceans. His features were fine and angelic, high cheekbones complimenting his full, pink lips. Yet there was something oddly broken in the boy's beautiful face, and the god longed to fix it, now more than ever.

"I don't think you understand what I say, old man, so I will say it slowly: _leave. Now._ Let this beach alone and leave it to me." His voice was rough as he said it.

Poseidon looked away and sighed. He leaned over and more quietly now, he said, "A bit hard to do that, young man, when this is my beach yer sittin' on."

The boy frowned. "I- I apologize. I'll leave then." He stood smoothly and crossed the beach. Poseidon jumped. He had not expected him to leave so quickly.

"Wait!" He called, but the boy did not stop. In a moment of panic, Poseidon raised a wall of water from the ocean beside him. Just as the boy reached the tree line, he hurled it, forcing it to collapse on top of him. The young man's sculpted figure was veiled in a torrent of salt water for several moments, until the last droplets plashed to the sand and ran in rivers back to the sea. He stood there, drenched, his waistcoat sagging from his body, his dark hair pasted across his forehead. He stared at the ground for a second, silent. The sea god stood by the shore, watching him.

When finally the boy looked up, there was more curiosity in his gaze than anger. He considered the old, copper-haired man before him with bright, blue eyes. "Did you do that?"

Poseidon tilted his head. "What ye mean, lad?"

The boy pointed at the water and back at himself, his lips forming a word that he had yet to say. His face was inquisitive but the sea god remembered to keep his own blank. "Never mind," said the boy. "You were mentioning something?"

Poseidon nodded. He didn't want to fool the young man with the Mist any more. Whatever reason the boy was so sullen, this was an occasion requiring sincerity, not magic and curtains. "I want to help ye, lad. Tell me, what's botherin' you?"

The young man hesitated before letting his armor fall. It was like watching a dam collapse against water. Anguish wrote over his face, misery filling the cracks between. His eyes met the old man's and for just a moment there was a little boy, not older than twelve, eyes rimmed with red and an emptiness to his wide gaze. It hurt the old man's soul to perceive. The young man returned to his spot on the shore, crouching beside the sea god. The water lapped over his feet and soaked through the hem of his already-soaked trousers. He took a deep breath, exhaling shakily.

"You won't tell a soul?"

"Not one- living or dead."

The young man nodded. He looked into Poseidon's face, really looked, his long, graceful eyelashes dripping salt water onto his cheekbones. "Then I'll tell you."

"It all started- well, I suppose it never started at any particular time, but it feels right to say so. In any case: my life has been rather difficult. Always has. As a boy, however, it was easier, having grown up here in Wales with both my parents, and my sisters. Life was a white noise, then. No worries, no troubles, no conflict. Only peace, and rolling green hills. But one day- one day like any other- that all changed in my case."

His eyes became wistful and faraway, glassed over. He held his lips ever so slightly apart, thinking.

"I don't suppose you would understand. Even if I told you. And I won't tell you, anyhow." He turned his head to face the sea god. "Have you any phobias?"

This took Poseidon off-guard. He blinked his sea-green eyes. "What?"

"Any phobias," the boy replied. "For me it has always been ducks. But… from that particular day, when my life changed, an entirely new phobia overcame me. A fear- deep and vigorous, relentless dread, like claws tearing into your chest every day the moment you wake to the moment you fall asleep. Sometimes it is how you feel when confronting a phobia. But for me, it was always, for I was always confronting my truest, deepest fear."

Poseidon could not help but think of Prometheus, chained to a rock for all eternity, only for his liver to become torn out by an eagle every morning at dawn. It was a cruel punishment, but it was suffering that only came from defying the gods. If this boy was feeling such suffering, must he have done something terrible too?

"Would ye say ye did anythin' to deserve such punishment?" He asked dubiously.

"I did," the boy said. "But not before I earned the pain." He laughed and rubbed his eyes.

"I- it was years later that I deserved it. Perhaps I would not have done something so wrong had I not encountered my… the problem. The suffering. "

Several moments of silence passed.

"No," the boy shook his head, answering his own question. "I would have still deserved it. Malice is in our souls, nastiness born into our veins. I deserved it all along. It just took me until then to notice."

Poseidon felt wholly and terribly in the dark. All that this boy said relied on a setting of which he had no foresight. He placed a hand on the young man's shoulder. "Ye hide much of this story from me. Ye fear I will go on blabberin' about it to me fellows. But I stay true to my word. I swear on the sea before me- on my hands and knees; I swear to never speak a word of your tale to anyone. It shall remain hidden from all other ears, for all of eternity. At least, from my mouth; I have no say in yers."

The boy's brow creased. "What is your name?" He asked.

Poseidon scrabbled for an alias. He grabbed the first to come to mind. "Percy. Percy Jackson."

Zeus was probably thundering right now at the use of his son's name. Poseidon smirked.

"Mr. Percy," the young man mused. "Here goes…"

He dove into a tormented tale, woven from dark misery and silence, and threads of gold, where friendship shone through. His voice rose and fell: a true storyteller. He felt the words as he said them, as his heart was braided into the story as much as it was braided into his veins. The words sang from his molded lips, like a canary on a tree branch. He spoke of demons and curses, of love and pain. Death seemed to be a familiar with this boy, despite his age. He spoke of it with less bitterness than he spoke of friendship and truth.

He told him of his inability to be loved, an inability, it seemed, he did not truly understand. He told of another boy, with silver hair, and a toxic addiction. He told of the one risk he shared with that boy, though the boy would never know, he swore. After blabber of Marks and weapons and Clave and Institute and family names and rings and fairies and vampires and ducks and fear- he came to a pause.

When he stopped, Poseidon lurched. He had been listening intently, intrigued and sorrowful. He had heard of the cursed- but most cursed Greeks tended to kill themselves, or suffer too much pain to speak. This was different. He looked over at the boy who stared at the ground, his mouth shut tightly. The sea god didn't want to pressure him into speaking, but he knew he had not reached the end of his tale.

He waited a minute.

Then two minutes.

Four minutes.

"Then there was a girl."

Poseidon let the words sink in slowly, gently. He knew where this led now. It was a tale older than time itself.

"I found her," the boy said quietly. "She wasn't beautiful. She wasn't delicate. But she was… pretty. Wise. And her eyes… they were the color of the ocean after a storm. Gorgeous."

"I'm sure she fell for you in an instant," Poseidon laughed.

The boy smiled slightly. "Actually, she hit me with over the arm with a jug."

"Ah," the old man sighed, understanding. "That is the best women one can find."

The boy did not reply. "It was not love at first sight. That does not exist. One cannot know and understand the heart of another from a distance, in a moment. But we took her back to the Institute. And I found… letters. Letters she wrote in the hopes they would reach her brother. They never did. _I_ found them, and _I_ read them. That is when I knew I loved her."

"How did you know then?" The god asked, knowing his brogue had begun to slip.

The young man didn't seem to notice, only shook his dark head. "The way she wrote. The way her words were sincere, and you could feel the heartache that accompanied her every thought. She was kind, and determined. A wholehearted girl. Perfect in every way."

He looked away. "But I could never have her."

Poseidon was silent.

"It became more difficult, then," he went on. "She was always there, down the hall. And her personality grew stronger and more stunning every day. I kissed her once, in an attic, but she pushed me away, probably thought I was delirious from holy water or vampire blood. Not long after, a battle tore into the Institute. Our maid and stable boy were killed, and Te- the girl was lying still, splayed over a fountain. Blood soaked the crumbling stone around her and I thought- I really thought… for just a moment she was dead. But then her eyes opened. Her grey eyes opened into my face. I had been calling to her, crying over her. And in that moment she could tell. She was aware that I had been weeping over her body, and when she understood that, her face opened, her lips parted, and she seemed surprised… in a good way. And I thought- maybe she loved me back. So I had to end it. I told her terrible things. I fear that I shattered her."

Poseidon looked down. It must have been terrible. To love another, and for her to perhaps return that love wholeheartedly- but never be able to follow through. More than just one heart would be hurt. The sea god had experienced that before. Many times.

"So I searched," the boy said. "I found help in a warlock. He aided me through drunken midnights and windblown mornings, through bloody evenings and angered daytimes, when the sun was too gleeful for my mood. My heart became only more swollen every time I saw her; I wrote poems and letters, and reread all the books she loved so I may love them more. I could never hurt her, but I wanted to love her- _needed _to love her. It became agonizing. And one day we grew close to a conclusion, the warlock and I. We grew close and then-"

"Wait," interrupted the sea god. "What exactly were you and that warlock growing close to?"

The boy nodded. "We were looking for the demon that cursed me. I had to make it reverse the spell so I may be free to love. To _be_ loved."

"Ah," Poseidon said. "Go on."

The boy continued hoarsely. "Well you see, we grew close and then- then I kissed her. The girl. Again. But it was inexcusable this time. Well, I suppose it was because of a fairy drink, but that wasn't all of it. And she knew. I could contain myself for little longer. I had to find that demon. And I did. Surprisingly quickly, at that. In the courtyard below the balcony we were on-"

"Balconies," Poseidon pondered. "Good place to carry on."

The boy made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat and continued on rapidly. It had grown dark at that point, but he was still visible a silhouette on the sand. "Yes, but I found him and chased him. And that next morning I raised him. And he told me. He told me that it was all a hoax. My entire life- a hoax. I spent years in agony- had abandoned my family, my little sister, and had hurt- terribly hurt my one true love. For nothing. It was a phony curse; the demon was too weak to place it at the time, so he figured he'd play a devious little game with my entire life."

Poseidon considered noting that the boy was still so young- no more than eighteen. Compared to the millennia up his sleeves, or even the near-century of a mortal, those few years were far from a life. But the boy was young, and one believes stupid things when one is young.

"So I went to the Institute. A day later I pulled her aside. I told her everything about my curse, and how much I longed for her. And she just looked at me. The way one would look at a sad, lost puppy. And she told me that she couldn't love me. Not that she didn't love me, or wouldn't love me- but that she _couldn't_ love me."

Poseidon shook his bearded head solemnly.

"But it was worse than I had anticipated. At that first glimpse of the descent- my crestfallen, confused face, she told me why she could never love me. She had been engaged. Engaged to my _parabatai._ My best friend; my brother. And the whole time I had been too caught up in my own romantic notions that I didn't notice their love for each other. I didn't care enough about my own brother to wonder if he loved someone, too."

There was utter failure written across his face. He had played a game with matches but had gotten burned by the candle instead.

Poseidon watched the boy's head disappear into his slender hands. After several moments, he said.

"It sounds like you're in need of some good advice, lad."

The boy raised his head, biting down on his lip.

Poseidon took a deep breath, running a hand over his face. He paused. "There've been a lot of special people in my life," he said. "Men and women alike. They seem to pass within the blink of an eye. But the pain stays. It remains and… It does not heal."

The words even surprised him as he said them. He hadn't known he had these feelings.

"That's just the thing," the boy said. "There aren't many women in my life- just one. Just _this _one. Tessa. Tessa Gray." He blushed, saying her name. "I'm sorry- I hadn't intended to speak her name."

Poseidon chuckled. "I swore very intricately back there; everything you say is safe in my ears."

The boy's eyes met his. "They could torture you," he said. "There are people and demons alike that could cause you to suffer in ways you can't imagine in your darkest, emptiest dreams, and you would be forced to say anything they wanted you to say."

Poseidon thought it over. "I don't think that will be a problem." He leaned in "Listen, lad. I see the hurtin' in your eyes. It rests in every part of your being. Your heart very obviously belongs to this girl. And she will never, ever leave your life. And neither will that 'pirate-booty' of yours. That oath brother. Unless one of them dies. But even then they will not leave you."

A look of graveness passed over the boy's face. "Let me ask you this," said Poseidon. "Do you hate your brother?"

The boy seemed shocked by this. "What? No. I could never hate him. Never. I wish I _could_ hate him for all this but I simply cannot. I love him as I love myself. That is part of being _parabatai._"

"So if you don't hate your brother, then do you hate Tessa?"

"Of course not," he replied.

"Then you hate yourself."

"I thought I made that obvious."

He blinked at the old man with slow, sad grace. Poseidon scratched his chin. He didn't know where he had been going with this, and now he was cornered. Finally, a resolution popped into his mind.

"You shouldn't hate yourself, lad. You could end up living a lot longer than you might think; and hating yourself for that- well it just won't work."

"I could kill myself," the boy said. There was no hint of sarcasm or doubt in his voice. "Out of regret."

Poseidon furrowed his brow. "Listen here. There are things beyond death more terrible than heartache. Many have fallen into insanity without their lover and eventually they plunge a knife through the heart that keeps them in a state between living and dead. And they regret it, for eternity they regret it."

The atmosphere had become stiff and heavy. "It cannot be worse than now," said the young man.

Poseidon felt a whirlpool churning within his chest. The ocean began bubbling, throwing larger waves at their feet. "Torment, agony, misery. You may think you know these things now but you do not. You may think regret and sacrifice have overcome your life but they have _not_. I've lived a thousand years lamenting over a woman whom I could never get back, and the next thousand years promising to sacrifice myself for the next one. But when again she dies or leaves or hates me, I spend another thousand years in regret. And so it continues. Do not think you know what it means to regret."

After several moments, the sea god settled himself and the ocean smoothed back into rhythmic swells. The boy sighed heavily and looked at him. "A thousand years."

It was not a question, but a statement. Poseidon realized his mistake then. He cursed, not wanting to have used his powers on this occasion, but now there was no choice.

"I would mourn a thousand years," the boy said quietly. "But not before I tried to save her."

The sea god smiled. He had not heard any Olympian so truthful and concise. "Good. Then you should try to save her, lad. Try to save yourself, more like. And do it the first chance you get, else her heart might truly be sold to your friend."

The boy nodded slowly, getting up to leave. "I know who you are," he said with a smile.

Poseidon smirked. "Do you?'

The boy laughed. "Neptune, if I could guess. Don't think I did not notice the water back there, or that slip-of-the-tongue."

The god blanched. "Oh…"

"Don't worry," the boy said. "I swear on my knife and on my life that your secret will not escape my lips- at least from my mouth; I cannot say for yours."

Slowly, Poseidon rose. "I suppose I do not seem like much, now do I?"

The boy shook his head, locks of damp black hair falling into his eyes. He was quite handsome, like a carved Greek statue painted with gorgeous pastel colors. "I admire you, sir. You live longer than any warlock or vampire I know, but you are not bitter with age. You could have struck me down with godly wrath when I intruded on your beach. That sort of thing isn't entirely uncommon with my people. But you did not. You stayed and though I was rude, you tried to aid in my troubles. I appreciate your good advice, I really do."

The sea god held up his hand. "One last thing, lad: tell me your name."

After a moment's thought the young man replied, "Gabriel. Gabriel Lightwood. Just in case you do feel like striking me down in godly wrath anytime soon." He smiled and departed the white-sand beach with catlike poise. Poseidon looked after him as he disappeared into the woods.

The god left the beach as well, striding into the sea until he melted into the salt water. Behind him the water was glassy and black as the night around it. He kept the memory of the brave, heartbroken boy with him for many years- perhaps he did not forgot it at all.

Over one hundred years after the strange meeting, Poseidon became father to another demigod. When he first held the little boy in his arms, cradled in a blue blanket, in a blue, ocean-themed nursery, his heart swelled proudly in his chest. This one he knew would be a hero. When the child first opened his eyes, the god was staggered by the combination of dark, ebony hair and blue-green eyes. His mind immediately flew to that not-so-long-ago memory of a beautiful and broken boy.

"What should we name him?" Asked Sally. Poseidon almost laughed at the coincidence of hers and the name he had given himself then.

"Percy," he said. "Percy Jackson."

He could already hear Zeus thundering.


End file.
